Quest For A Dearly Beloved
by the milliner's rook
Summary: Byakuya & Hisana. Ichigo & Rukia. AU. When Prince Byakuya decides to tie the knot, naturally nobody is pleased.
1. zero

Quest For A Dearly Beloved

**zero.**

* * *

This is not how it starts. The Mess and the Abduction, Ichigo calls it in his head. This is not that. He's getting there, but for now, _this_ is the Ransom. And the Long Trek towards That Thing.

_She_ is free and with him of her own volition. There are no chains around her wrist and nothing binds her to him. Not a debt or an oath. He is no knight and there is no sworn fealty between them.

This is toleration, at best.

"I'm warning you," Rukia snarls, a shrew wrapped in tawdry clothes, cheeks red with dignified huffiness. She muffles a squeak when trying to avoid the mud on her expensive dress, but to Ichigo it's a vindictive sound of delight. Serves her right for not wanting to blend in, in his humble opinion. She jumps like a frog and fails like a fish, and however much she hoisted her garments; it was never enough to wring it free from the twigs in the forest. This is entertainment, simply put. Especially when she became so snippy. "One more time and I'll—"

"Yeah, I know." Ichigo interrupts, rolling his eyes. He couldn't be bothered in the least by the stuck up midget's squawking. The sad thing about this sort of entertainment was that it was often short-lived. "You said."

This must have been the twelfth time already. Not that he'd counted.

"I'll know." Rukia purses her lips, becoming of her and infinitely more preferable in company. To add insult, she narrows her eyes at him like she didn't trust him at all, before she opens her mouth once more. "This is your final warning."

"Fine."

Not like he cared.

It must be women's intuition how she knew, if she did at all, behind that irritatingly haughty disposition. Yuzu had that sometimes, not the haughty disposition, but the intuition, able to suss out who had eaten the freshly baked cakes a few days ago. The telltale crumbs probably didn't help, but Ichigo was always a little careless when it came to his family.

Besides, he did her a favour. Miss High And Mighty.

"I should have done it myself." Ichigo hears her grumble behind him, and that's enough for Ichigo to stop in his tracks. "At least then—"

He turns around to face her.

"Look," Ichigo starts, "Rukia—"

The slap is not altogether unexpected, but Ichigo _still_ can't catch her wrist in time. This was her thirteenth warning, not counting the flashing eyes of doom spaced out evenly throughout. He just hadn't expected her to follow through. That was a mistake, clearly, and Ichigo wasn't fond of deluding himself. At least she's got a strong right hook.

"Either _'your Royal Highness_' or _'Rukia-hime'_ would suffice." The _princess_ snaps, full of arrogance and self-conceit, and there's nothing more that Ichigo would like to do than steal her horse and leave her in the forest if he had the chance, but alas, there was no horse. "I'll even accept _'your grace'_ or _'Rukia-sama_'. But no." Her Royal Shrew fumes at him, prettier still when angry.

Ichigo can't be bothered to tell her that titles are such a waste of time. Where he's from, no one uses them. They're happier that way. This part is always tedious to listening to. But it seems like she's gifted at dull lectures.

"Somehow these instructions are above your tiny brain's capabilities. Or did I not express myself clearly enough?" Scornful, she _harrumphs_, upturned nose raised high into the air.

It's a tragic effort. It doesn't make the prissy brat any taller, but it does make her look a good deal more stupid.

Ichigo scowls and ignores her and the painful hand-shaped bruise beginning to grow on his jaw.

He should have kept her bound and gagged from the very start. Made passer-by's believe that he was carrying plundered goods. Except he didn't count on her being so damn heavy.

"C'mon," Ichigo sighs, and begins his trek once more. "Let's just get this over with."

To think, the idea had been a _good _one. In theory.

* * *

_a/n. For Suk_fong who wanted Byakuya/Hiyori friendship. Crack ensued._


	2. one

Quest For A Dearly Beloved

**one.**

* * *

In the beginning, and this is how His Royal Highness, the effulgent Kuchiki Byakuya, prefers every tale to start, there is the kingdom of Geronimo.

Nearly night, the sunset finished in its vermillion farewells; it is after dusk when the castle looks most beautiful. There is a subtle grace about the sculpted stone castle and spiral staircases that cannot be captured on city's brightest day. Here, its shadow looms over the cobbled streets where broken carts are left forgotten in the streets, horses led away to their stables, and drunken peasants lean on the narrow pathways, waiting momentarily with muddled thoughts to muster the courage to walk once more, blinking through bleary eyes. Tall stone arches still catch the firefly light, kept behind the closed gate, laid bare until a knight patrolled once more. In the morning, when the gates open, there will be lords and ladies dressed in velvet elegance occupying the courtyard, chatter about, fresh gossip easy to find as the baker's loaf of bread.

At the present, silence roams, save the stutter of occasional footsteps on uneven streets, the rustle of the restless wind; the nightingale does not sing its lullaby yet. The tallest tower, seen from even the farthest point the town, amethyst window panes radiant when the sun shone in its direction, has closed the curtains from its peaceful city. Even so, if one wished to squint, gazing upwards at where their beloved royal lived, they might notice the flicker of the candle. With greater effort, wasted for precious sleep in some people's opinions, a silhouette might be noticed; that on a bad day would not blow the flame out.

Inside the candlelit tower, Kuchiki Byakuya has a problem. He sits proud and regal, back straight and poised as if he were imagining himself on the throne, a marble statue to be admired from afar. He ponders, absentmindedly angling his reflection as he sees fit.

It was not a _standard_ problem, he believed, raising his chin slightly; much to Hiyori's blatant annoyance, her huffing and curses exempt from his thoughts. He pays her no attention so long as she continued her task.

The brush stokes grew increasingly less gentle as His Royal Highness respires and returns to his original position: staring straight ahead, concentrating on his thoughts. His scalp is all but massaged with the turn of his head and serrated talons roved through what a century of Kuchiki's have aspired to have: sleek and silky glossy locks of hair. Poetry once likened the royal bloodline's hair to be like moonlight dappled on a midnight lake, finally it became true. A hundred times it must be brushed, before sunrise and after sunset, to maintain such beauteous tresses, smooth as a coursing river.

Kuchiki Byakuya did not complain, not because it would give Hiyori satisfaction, but because complaining was not his nature.

Instead, he reflects, closing his eyes momentarily when she tugged too forcefully, untangling knots. No noise left him lest he wills it.

"Stay _still_, your priggishness," High Servant Sarugaki Hiyori hisses, armed with the supreme weapon known as a hair brush. It was fortunate that she had decided not to resort to hair pulling today, a sign that clearly she was not as frustrated as she usually was. "What's bothering you today?"

There's not a trace of concern in her arsenic laced voice, but Byakuya confides in her nevertheless, regaining stillness.

"I am perplexed." The prince admits, seeking her reaction. Though she feigned disinterest, rolling her eyes at his reflection, they had known each other since young and her resumed brushing of his hair was a sign that he could continue.

"Oh, I'm sure you are." Fanged teeth revealed themselves, lopsidedly crooked, when he did not. They almost shine in the darkness aided by the firelight, twisted by smirks and heavy eyelids. Many who interact with her believe she looks at them slanted, uncaring about their refined vernacular, preferring the crux of the matter to be laid in its barest form. Unyielding. Unflinching. "With _what_?" She prompts, surly in his biding patience. "Spit it out."

He translates her brusque tongue to how he imagines the other servants might deign it suitable to address the royal prince. _Tell me, your majesty, what is this grave concern that ails you? How can I be of assistance to aid you?_ Something akin to that, he presumes. Except this was Hiyori he was translating, and her habits were known enough to say that Hiyori was mildly amused by his bewildered complexion, although she did not know what it was yet. And Hiyori did not keep her disdain of the other High Servants a secret, perpetually frustrated by their incompetence. She is infamous for infectious scowls.

"Bya-brat." Accompanied with the general glare that Hiyori was never truly bereft of, her term of endearment goaded his oft restrained temper.

"The situation is most bewildering." Lessons of control had taught him the ability to refuse the urge the furrow his brows. That was frowned upon. Arching one's eyebrow, however, was not.

"Hey!" Fuming, Hiyori raises her voice, setting the hairbrush on the table. She is slight, and small, but the High Servant is able to induce fear in lesser men with help of her short bursts of anger. Red colours her cheeks, and her arms fold across her chest. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have muss up your hair again?"

_Anything but that._

"Very well." He inhales deeply, releases the air from his lungs and begins. "It appears that the civilians are under a grievous misconception."

"Which is?"

"Since my birth, they seemed to have constructed the idea that I was female."

Had Byakuya paused he would have noticed disbelief pass lightning fast over Hiyori's plain face. Words would try to form, but come to no fruition.

Blissfully ignorant of this, he continues.

"Therefore, when I expressed my interest to wed an eligible lady, they replied with an unexpected response. They then refused to believe that I was male. I was unable to rectify their erroneous judgement." It was a baffling moment, truth be told, to realize that all his life, his subjects had thought him to be the fairer sex, and now, they assumed something altogether more daunting. "Perhaps, I haven't contemplated enough on the matter. It is difficult to comprehend at first glance."

The brief silence is interrupted by a snort, and then a full burst of cackling.

Preferring to not dwell on his less than ideal circumstances and her unfavourable reaction, a more attentive servant would have stifled their laughter for a more suitable occasion. But every rose has its thorn, and Hiyori most certainly embodied those qualities than most; the briar patch that hid behind budding roses. He steels his gaze and waits, jaw clenching imperceptibly.

"It isn't, pretty boy. Hell, why do you think _Shinji_ called you his first love for a week?" With a nasty grin that relished his discomfort, Hiyori continues. "But give the command to summon the court jester after your beauty sleep, and all is well. Or shall I grab the scissors and start cutting your hair immediately?" There was too much perverse enjoyment in that smirk of hers, Byakuya is well aware. "The choice is yours, Bya-hime."

"Neither will be necessary." Prince Byakuya smoothly replies, remaining stoic to deny Hiyori's morbid delight. The lack of a reaction infuriated her, and in turn, vindictive victory once more became his. "The solution that I propose is simpler."

It was much less disastrous, since his hair would be left untouched; however it was a foolhardy risk. A moment of madness. But one he might be able to endure.

"This ought to be good." She mutters under her breath.

"Marry me."

"_What."_ And the smile is cleansed from her face.

"Marry me." Byakuya repeats.

"No." Hiyori drawls, unimpressed, regaining her composure after a few rapid blinks. "You twit, why would I do that? I'd have to be drunk to say yes."

"That can be arranged."

"You do that and I _will_ cut your hair. You'll have a tyrant for a queen, and where would you be then?" Hiyori's fanged teeth glint in the mirror, the shadows on her face almost demonic with sunburnt straw hair. "People would still think you're a lesbian." She snorts, and Byakuya represses every urge to twitch in annoyance. It was only a mild suggestion, not one to be entertained for long. "Isn't it a scandal to marry a servant?"

"You're a High Servant." He corrects her.

"Right, that." Hiyori nods, eyebrow arched. "The point is, Byakuya, servants don't get married to royals."

"Exceptions can be made, if the conditions were met. A marriage could be arranged. However, on further evaluation, our temperaments are not compatible and it would be an ill-suited match." Byakuya acknowledges the failure of his rash suggestion. He is somewhat despondent and relieved at this, a strange combination of both emotions. Although, it was more acceptable for a second-born to wed common people, instead of the only heir to the throne. In the morning, he will never comment on this again.

"Never thought I'd say this, Bya-hime," Hiyori snickers as he remains utmost silent before her dour personality resumed hold of her. "But being your servant is a lesser evil."

The question therefore remained unanswered, who would be his wife?

* * *

"We discussed it and agreed." Lady Yoruichi simpers, catlike smile lit across her face like the sun across the horizon. These are the first words she greets him with, after she attracts his attention with a mockery of a curtsey, always the centre of attention wherever she went. The morning comes with a bitter breeze, a spring sun that can never warm the cockles of this creature's heart, or her lord husband. Urahara Kisuke joins her, equally bright-eyed, and a sight for sore eyes. Together, they were a cause for an incurable disease. No doubt they have already caused one elsewhere. "We would like you, Bya-bo, to be ours."

"We have already been granted permission by your parents, all we require is your approval." Lord Kisuke adds.

"No." His Royal Highness Prince Byakuya declines their offer with a flat voice. "I do not endorse polygamy."

"Pity," Lady Yoruichi smiles, ever the optimist. "Is there nothing we can do to attempt a different answer?"

"Pregnancy would have suited you." Lord Kisuke comments with the lightest of sighs, "especially in response to these rumours. Have you heard the gossip that you were male, all along? Such travesty, your majesty."

It takes the highest amount of repression to ignore the bursting veining that pulses at his temple, and command the innermost wish to shout to the entire courtyard that the nobles that stood before him were imbeciles who did not know an ounce of truth. But those days were gone, and he was not as foolish as he once was. In many ways Hiyori was a reminder that much more intolerable people existed, and a constant reminder of how his temper resisted cruel tricks. How far he'd progressed since then.

Byakuya says nothing.

"You would be a beautiful bride." Attempting one last time for persuasion, her charm fails her once more. Disappointed, she draws back to her husband, and inquires merrily, "Kisuke, don't you agree?"

"Yes," Kisuke appraises him, and Byakuya becomes marble, determined to let his discomfort remain a secret, and not laid bare on his cheeks in a hot flush. "However," Lord Kisuke tilts his head to the side, and frowns, turning to his wife, bemused. "I believe that your wedding dress is too delicate for our princess."

"That's simple enough to solve. He must diet." Yoruichi rebukes her husband, and Byakuya wonders if he is no longer of any importance to them, just another short-lived delight as they wander the various kingdoms in pursuit of pleasure. Derisively, she enquires, "What bride doesn't diet?"

"You, dearest."

"I am the exception to most."

If there was a polite way to brutally tear apart their jabs and wickedness, Byakuya had the misfortune to be woefully ignorant. He was, at the very least, grateful that his High Servant was not here to witness this. Although he had suspicions that perhaps she, or her friends, were witnessing this encounter, and graciously remaining hidden in the meantime.

"You speak as if I'm still partaking in this ridiculous notion." Byakuya allows himself to sigh, tired of their idle prattle.

"Aren't you?" Her previous disappointment is forgotten, as her golden eyes widen in surprise. Her glance is mischievous, and Byakuya is instantly wary of her mirth. He prepares himself. "As Kisuke said, we already sought a blessing with your loving parents. They gave it."

_Willingly?_

He balks, and catches the devil's own delight in their beams. He glowers, foolish and young once more, and amusing them unintentionally. Much to his ire.

"Unless, of course, if you can wed the bride of your dreams within the hour – that is, to say, by the end of the month, then our agreement is void. If not, we are more than happy to accept you as our own." Lord Kisuke amends with a sunny upturned smirk.

"Are you finished playing court jester?" Byakuya inquires dryly.

"Almost." The Lady Yoruichi laughs, and curtseys once more. "While we would like to remember that your alternative future is with us, we swore to your parents to assist you. And thus have chosen a few brides to your liking."

"I am grateful." He bows, they return the courtesy, and Byakuya does not turn back when he departs. He needs time to gather his thoughts, to be away from stupidity, and to find Hiyori.

Had he stayed, it would have done him no favours, as the two nobles were trying their best to encourage rumours of one possible suitor, his future husband: King Zaraki. Of course Byakuya was a _princess_, Yoruichi tells children playing by the courtyard, before she steals one apple from a tree and hides it in a child's pocket, for she has many fond memories of braiding his hair, and what princess does not like that? Of course Byakuya was _female_, Kisuke agrees with a scandalized expression to contrary evidence to any street merchant that would listen, nodding fervently; why else would such a lady, his own wife not included, dress in such ostentatious clothes and be extremely pretty?

* * *

"Naturally, you are accompanying me." Byakuya informs his High Servant who has finished collecting his most appropriate clothes for the journey. She is displeased, to say the least. "It is not judgement I require from you, but trust."

"Your hatred for them runs much deeper for them than me." Consistent in her bluntness, Hiyori remains sceptical. She nearly sounds insulted.

"Any servant of theirs would obey their orders. You, however, can claim loyalty to me." However falsely it might be, Byakuya did not add, but it was understood clearly. It was also understood, that any disobedience in front of _other_ people that did not include themselves would result in grave punishment.

"And why are we travelling there, instead of letting your candidates come here?" Hiyori lifts an eyebrow, half turned away. "Try not to use so many words."

"My advisors have a wanderlust nature, and would prefer to personally visit the potential kingdom that I might pledge allegiance through wedlock." His Royal Highness explains, ignoring her advice, steadfast in determination. "Perhaps it will be of some use. I could discover more about the other realms and the people that live there."

He will miss this kingdom, but learn what lies beyond the green meadows and mists of the forest that he has only glimpsed at from his tower. It is his duty, and he must obey his parent's wishes.

"You would think that with a voice as low as yours, other people would know instantly. How many brides will instantly think that they are to marry another princess at first sight?" Hiyori drawls, just as word reaches their ears that the carriage below is waiting, and she promptly waves the messenger away. "Good riddance, for all I care."

Byakuya sighs. Perhaps it is not too late to grow a beard.


	3. two

Quest For A Dearly Beloved

**two.**

* * *

It is never too late to gain a headache.

Byakuya relearns this lesson many, _many_ times during the course of the journey. He was most displeased to be informed by the carriage driver that there would be only _one_ carriage, meaning that he must endure multiple expeditions in the same vehicle with the most idle of prattle with the two most infuriating nobility that he was accursed to meet. His eyes narrowed dangerously, as he wondered why his parents would not be so generous as to spare him from such tragedy of childhood trauma and teenage angst.

Worst of all was that such idle prattle prevented him from window gazing, since the more maddening of the duo had no sense of space.

"Don't clench your jaw like that, Bya-bo." The Lady Yoruichi _tsks_, prodding his cheekbone with no less gentleness than she would handle throwing an apple at his head and expecting it to be caught, huffing with a curled lip when it was not. Often he lacked the nimbleness to avoid such collisions, since he assumed she practiced assailing nobles with bows and arrows and tossing rocks into the sky in the time they spent apart, if he too practiced expecting the unexpected, and was left to grimly disentangle crushed apple cores from such beauteous hair as his. Despite Hiyori having offered a beneficial solution, Byakuya declined, for he knew that his High Servant did not contained that particular distilled evil in her, perfumed and ornate and fluid in her waltzing steps. If anything, Hiyori tended to stomp and alert others of her misanthropic presence rather than achieve the element of surprise. "It is most unbecoming."

If he closes his eyes and shuts himself away from the rest of the world it means that he has lost.

"Your thoughtfulness is noted." He says instead, considering it a small victory that his temper is held in check, and a flicker of disappointment passes through her face. "I shall persevere and attend to it."

"_Yoruichi-sama."_ Cheerfully, Lord Kisuke reproaches. He sits with the brightest smile on his face, teeth feral like wolves devouring a sacrificial lamb. "Surely you have better manners than that."

There is a pause, and with a stiff acknowledgement, Byakuya sits ramrod straight, nodding slightly. "Yoruichi-sama."

The words are hollow in his mouth, and he does not like the taste of it at all.

"Kisuke, look what you've done." Narrowing her eyes, Lady Yoruichi draws back, casting disdain on her ever growing inhumane husband. Byakuya sighs in relief. She chides. "You've made him surly."

"_I am not surly."_

Both pay him no attention, well-honed in that art. Byakuya has never met any other nobility so brazen to specialize in conversing over royalty.

"My dear, you accomplished that feat all by yourself." His tone conveys admiration, to which Byakuya can only scowl in response. It is falsities, and he cannot maintain an ear to listen to such drivel.

"I have, haven't I?" Pride flits into her widening smile like sunlight slips through clouds. Were he not Prince Byakuya, he might almost be under the impression that he was a pawn for Yoruichi to temper.

It is difficult to resist temptation to roll his eyes.

"But look, see how his jaw has clenched?" Lord Kisuke joins in, just as elsewhere a storm begins to brew. "Our dear bride must persist."

Then again, in such arduous situations, it is better to give in and say nothing at all.

Byakuya rolls his eyes and ignores their rejoicing cries at success.

It will only further increase his headache.

* * *

Outside in the carriage, Hiyori is bored. There can only be so much before she can take before she becomes sick of green.

All things considered, the journey is a lot less entertaining because she can't eavesdrop on a certain stuck up _princess._ The carriage muffles the conversations so mockingly and well-aimed at lampooning the blushing virgin bride. The only comfort so far is being attuned to his gritted teeth slowly grinding together, and a temper to match that sends Hiyori in fits of hysterics when she isn't the target of the latest tantrum.

Unfortunately, Hiyori has her own misfortune to content with.

"So," she drawls, side eying the carriage driver. Unlike a certain royal, servants have no reason to hide their disdain. That pretence has long been abandoned, and Hiyori has never been good at hiding her true feelings, unless it's an uncalled for vent of anger, which varies with every breath they take, and depends on her next meal. "How did they convince _you_ to come along?"

Shinji grins at her, teeth stretching like tombstones in an endless field across his face. Her memory of him has not failed her, he was still grating to her nerves as the first time they met. All it took was one moment, and an inappropriate leer that sends her blood boiling.

"No persuasion needed, milady," he replies, just as she begins to frown with that old mistaken term of endearment that he's never quite been able to let go of. "The pleasure was mine."

Hiyori snorts.

"If I said that learning you were accompanying was a surprising incentive, would that help?" He adds lightly, careless, all an act to wind her up. She's watched him out of the corner of her eyes playing the part of a love struck fool to know when his falsities are indulgent fantasies, and no girl is smitten enough to fall for it. When he tries to place his attention on her, it irritates Hiyori immensely.

"Surprisingly enough, it would not." Dryly, Hiyori retorts, leaning back to enjoy what little sun filtered through the net of leaves above them. The rays of light bring little warmth, yet there's enough of a potent mixture between slippery sunlight and boredom to provide a lazy sort of drowsiness. "Wake me up when we get there."

"Then I'll pray for the rain to not disturb you." Shinji murmurs, as she shuts her eyes, and everything, including the horses trotting deeper into the middle of the forest, fades away into nothing. Almost. "I wouldn't want to ruin a lovelier sight."

* * *

He has endured three long and malignant days and night, all to see one possible future wife, the next queen of Geronimo.

Prince Byakuya, if he allows himself one moment free from self-deceit, is at the end of his tether, fraying every second he sits opposite two disreputable nobles.

The forest was a pleasant unknown, and would have been more entrancing still, had he been spared from four cacophonous beings, two that travel within the transport, gifted with smiles that only fabled crocodiles could imitate so precisely, and two that travelled outside, two crocodiles that had abstained from their leering an entered a fully engaged battle of snapping teeth. It must be love, Byakuya had hoped with an empty heart, if Hiyori had been reduced to silence. Alas, the rain had fallen two nights ago, and it apparently wasn't common knowledge that his High Servant _was not_ a light sleeper (unbeknownst to the kingdom, the royal prince had acquired first-hand experience, and bruises on occasion, in the odd moment when he wasn't properly awake and Hiyori had decided that he hadn't learnt his lesson) despite waking up early, to accommodate his needs, within reason. Hiyori woke up on her own term, this had long been established. So, it was the detriment to them all when she woke up drenched to the bone, and the carriage driver was dry, having taken a moment to relax inside the carriage. Despite finding shelter under trees, it was not enough to prevent the rain to mark Hiyori and the horses, although suspiciously, the horses too seemed not to suffer as much damage as Hiyori had. The carriage driver had simply replied was that was because their silky fur made them near impermeable, so how was she to compete with a horse?

The shouting match had existed ever since.

It must be love, Byakuya reaffirmed with slight bitterness, if Hiyori hadn't stopped incessantly yelling yet. Shinji occasionally sniped back, voice marginally raised, but was far more muted.

It was almost as if they didn't realize how thin the walls truly were. And if they did, then Hiyori wouldn't care in the slightest. That was her normal disposition, the diamond hidden too much in the rough, shining a false gleam when the sun was in the way.

He sighs, and tries to be appreciative of the scenery, the wildness of the forest, and sifts of sunbeams that make the gurgling stream iridescent. It's an environment so different to what he is accustomed to. Every then and now, His Royal Highness had glimpsed wildlife, untamed creatures that disappeared after a blink of an eye. Deer, rabbits, squirrels, all of them vanished before he had a proper moment to stop and stare, and curiously gaze at them, instead of relying on an uncertain memory.

Perhaps, he admits to no one, he is not so fond of the rough road, bumpy and raw, odd placements of rock scattered as predictably as tossing tomatoes into the sky, with no hint to where they will land. There are thickets of grass that are sprinkled sporadically, not nearly as cultivated as the rich gardens so ornately dressed with rosebushes and hyacinths, enough to make him question his (physical) wellbeing when the carriage shifts suddenly one way then another.

It is not a polished prettiness, but the beauty in the forest is still there to be admired, albeit in an unrefined and rural manner.

"Have you been practising how to smile, Bya-hime?" The Lady Yoruichi enquires with a wicked gleam visible in her golden eyes. Her noble husband raps lightly on the wall, when an interlude of silence makes itself known. "This princess, I have heard, is enchanted by those who are intricately well acquainted with such things."

"Anything else?" Byakuya asks, ignoring everything but the bare necessities.

"A charming disposition, and eyes brightened by walks." Lord Urahara cheerfully informs him, just as the carriage slows down and stops. "The exercise will do you good."

There is a moment when Byakuya believes he is drowning in stunned silence.

Then the door opens, and there is nothing else but noise.

"Excuse me?" Stiffly, Byakuya asks once more. "What is the meaning of this?"

"An ingenious plot." His oldest childhood enemy smirks, teeth flashing like a twisted knife, and begins to explain. "We are going on ahead, and charm your bride-to-be about how captivated by the forest you are, and wanted to explore the scenery on your own terms, without our help."

"Never fear," Urahara says, his comfort transparent as ice marked on window panes. There had been a shared smile between he and his lady; a bitter knife pressed behind Byakuya's back, a cold hand that guides – not pushes – the young prince out of the carriage. "I shall say nothing but compliments, I promise."

"And how am I to _reach_ her, without anyone to take me there?"

"That's easy." The carriage driver answers, pointing to the trees. Byakuya follows his gaze, but not before noticing some bruises forming where the shadows of his clothes fall like a trick of light. Anyone else would not know the signs, had they not shared the same injuries on more than one occasion. His High Servant strikes again. "You can see the castle from here. It's not that far."

"A five minute walk, at a guess." Hiyori drawls, smirking.

"How fortunate it is that you are my servant." Byakuya replies. He is not to be abandoned without company. Although it is still an inconvenience that out of everyone that is here, Hiyori is the most preferable, and even that is a slight to his pride. "It would not do to explore the surroundings by myself."

The distance between them narrows, as her smirk diminishes into a glower, and her temper nearly boils across her face in darkening hues of crimson red. But she checks herself, if only just, and lowers her voice into a whisper as she looks up at him. "What."

"You are my High Servant." Byakuya meets her eyes, and doesn't look away. For the sake of appearances, he too keeps his voice lowered. "You should be duty-bound."

Her glare is filled with contempt. "That is _not_ the reason I am your servant."

He cannot argue with that, but he cannot find it within himself to agree with her.

The fact remains that he must say something in response.

"Ta-ta!" Lady Yoruichi calls, breaking him free from his thoughts. When he looks to the direction of her gleeful voice, the carriage is far ahead on the gravelly path. Her waving, twirling hand is the only thing that in sight, a familiar memory indeed, coloured by her jubilant laughter. "We'll be sure to send a search party if you don't arrive before midnight! What would your mother and father think?"

The prince and his High Servant watch them, silent.

"I hate you so much." Hiyori seethes.

Byakuya sighs.

The feeling is mutual.

* * *

They are lost, but they don't need a search party to find them.

"I can't believe you," Hiyori snipes, just before the last branch breaks and she scrambles furiously to find something to grip on. She fails, arms flailing as she plummets towards the ground and a squinting Byakuya, driven half-mad by impatience. "Well, at least you're princely enough to catch a lady." Muttering, it's not too much of an assumption to know there's a cruel downward curve of a frown there.

"Who was it that said a five minute walk?" Byakuya recalls with a dry voice. "I'm certain it wasn't me."

"Be quiet." Hiyori snaps, losing what little was left of her temper and kicks him. Then she stands up, and doesn't offer the same courtesy to help him up. As far as she was concerned, they were even: he forced her to climb up a tree, and he repaid her by cushioning her fall. "We're nearly there."

"How can you tell?"

It is dark, and not yet cold to cause shivers. But Byakuya is hungry, and it is the promise of food in the air that keeps him alive. He can barely see beyond his own hand, and the darker parts of shadows. The moonlight is limited, always shifting as they continue aimlessly. He smoothes down his windblown hair, hoping that his appearance is nothing short of impeccable.

"A few things. Fire, a castle, food. Little things like that." She replies in a no-nonsense manner, stepping forward and breaking twigs. "I may have seen your future bride, but don't count on it."

"Thank you."

"The sooner we get this over with, the better. Isn't that right, Bya-brat." Not waiting for an answer, Hiyori grabs him and tugs him forward. She pulls his arm until he shakes her away, content with the knowledge that the only path they are going is forward.

They don't stop until the castle is in sight, right in front of them. He is tired, and takes a moment to catch his breath. Fire light flickering on the stone walls, the closer they approach the castle, the louder the chatter of people and the crackle of flames, a sense of nervousness enters his heart. Quickly, he makes sure that everything is pristine as can be, given the circumstances.

Hiyori rolls her eyes.

"Don't forget the twigs in your hair, princess."

She smirks as he heeds her cautionary advice, and finds no twigs entangled in silky locks. It's a comfort to know that his hair feels beautiful.

"Introductions are in order," Byakuya tells her, leading the way and stomps into the courtyard of his future kingdom.

It's different to what he expected.

It's a ruin, fallen architecture scattered everywhere; waiting for time to erase its very existence by sun and rain and moon and flora.

But, it's romantic too, at the same time. He feels charmed by this sense of lost nostalgia, where ghosts and the living tread among it still, quite comfortably. The morning light will show it in a different way,

Lady Yoruichi and Lord Urahara are laughing, graced with a mountain of bottled wine, easy to see even from a distance. When they see him, they wave without finesse, full of big gestures attracts the attention of others; minstrels, farmers, noble men and women. A speckled cat runs past him, and he nearly jumps. Byakuya isn't amused. Hiyori has wandered off; nothing compels her to stay knowing that his 'guardians' are here to protect him. Here, they are carefree, and careless, ignoring reputation and drinking wine without glasses. Again, he questions his parents' wisdom, if they really made the best choice. Ignorant to his thoughts, they point to a woman, and she turns to face him.

The first thing he notices is her chest.

He strolls towards her, careful to take his time, and waits for the campfire to reveal more of her character.

There is a tiara on her head, placed neatly on top of sunset red hair. There's a lightness in her robin egg eyes, as she gazes at him in wonder, drawing ever closer. He nearly blushes. It must be the ever closer proximity of the fire that sends heat flushing through his veins, to feel embarrassed by her curiosity. He remembers her name then, a flash of insight that was rumoured around this area; the beautiful ragtag princess that lives in a forest, royal blood a shining beacon to all, despite her friendly demeanour. (And a mightily welcome buxom chest.)

He opens his mouth to speak eloquently, words that will sweep her off her feet—

"Come, Byakuya-hime," Matsumoto Rangiku smiles, taking his hand, "I think it's time that you show me how to properly dance."

Distantly, he thinks he can hear the sound of Yoruichi's cackling and the chink of two bottles raising a toast.

* * *

_a/n. I miss writing. But One Piece. The anime is ridiculously long but perfect :D I didn't mean to leave this alone for four months. RL gets in the way. Well, while people are doing NaNoWriMo, I'll be doing this. It probably won't be finished by the end of the month, but that doesn't mean I won't try. I'll edit out the mistakes later. I hope you're still enjoying this! Let me know what you think?_


	4. three

Quest For A Dearly Beloved

**three.**

* * *

The mystery of Byakuya-sama's sacred first kiss begins that night.

It is not exactly a mystery of _who_ but _when_.

Which came first?

To everyone else, the precise details are buried deep inside wine glasses and hazy recollections that only clarify that it happened the night when Byakuya met Rangiku. The young prince's mind is too addled to tell which events happened chronologically. There are only gaps, moments of lucidity, and bets on who kissed him first, never able to be confirmed.

To Byakuya, the tale of his first kiss, unbeknownst to him, is unbearably similar of a legend when looking glasses and glass windows had not been created and wishing wells and lakes sufficed on sunny days. However, _that_ ending differed immensely because the boy who fell in love with his own reflection had not had quick-thinking High Servant Sarugaki Hiyori to force him to reassess his lifestyle and reconsider his decisions.

In the beginning, the pampered prince had caught himself in a mirror, and was overwhelmed by such a beautiful person that stared back at him, marble-like and pristine perfect. Instantly he was envious of such handsomeness, the grace of silky black locks and elusive grey-blue eyes, an enigma to all but him. It took a few more seconds to realize that he was staring at himself.

And in that short time, he had fallen in love.

In the midst of the truest of all true loves, he freely gave away his first kiss.

This was the beginning of when Byakuya met Hiyori. Six seconds after admiring and kissing his reflection, a short brat of monkey appeared, and eight seconds later, proceeded to smack him. The reason was never revealed, but it is safely and correctly assumed that she was simply in another bad mood. The truth was that she had learnt who she was going to serve for the rest of her life, and she was damned if she was going to be a docile and loving servant, the opposite of her nature, to those who were not worth it. So far, he wasn't.

Predictably, what ensued afterwards was not an event Byakuya recalled favourably. Not the bruises or the bites. At least not when he was aware of his royal position, that is.

(He was at a very young and impressionable age; he tells himself, when he was still kicking and screaming, not yet learned enough to fight with dignity and grace.)

Hiyori may have hit and engaged in a multitude of fights as the years went by, but Byakuya had never kissed anyone again.

Until that night.

He had inadvertently discovered an alcoholic beverage that he found to his surprise that he rather enjoyed the taste, and would not simply drink one but _plenty_. Then he had gotten kissed by two individuals.

Neither of them, he was relieved to remember later, particularly in the case of the latter, less so in the former, were Rangiku-hime or Lady Yoruichi.

When he wakes up the next day, sprawled across grass with morning dew clinging to his clothes and mud to his shoes, Prince Byakuya wakes up with his head still spinning from the applause. His lips are sore.

Two kisses. Two very different kissers.

Unconsciously, he begins to move the tips of his finger to his parted mouth, as if that would erase last night's events, still elusive to his memory. Perhaps it might make him remember more of what has happened.

The second (or third) kiss His Royal Highness Prince Byakuya experienced is rough and sharp, leaving the bitter taste of blood and alcohol in his mouth. He faintly recalls being tugged by his collar and yanked down to meet the smaller individual, crashing against her retroussé nose before she grins—and he recalls _that_ sensation implicitly—against the edge of jaw before her teeth sink into his bottom lip.

As a consequence, Byakuya assumes, his clothes are in a state of disarray, in addition to the evening trek to venture into Matsumoto castle. He is fairly sure there are tears that were not caused by branches and bushes but by nails.

The third (or second) kiss is soft and sweet. It was almost to be considered chaste if not for what happened next. Byakuya would have fallen – for a fleeting moment – if he had not then been pressed against the crumbling wall and yielded his breath once more to the taller, willowy woman. She pushed him back, and there must be bruises on his shoulder blades, if not ruined clothes.

He must ask Hiyori to examine his delicate skin and reaffirm that he is not fatally injured. Glancing at his clothes with disdain, there is little doubt in his mind that his clothes can be salvaged at all.

"Good morning, Bya-hime." The Knight known as Ichimaru Gin greets him with a perpetual bladed grin, and helps him get to his feet. It would be a lie to say that Byakuya has been desensitized to his new title, but despite his persistence in deflecting such ridiculous notions, it is still a slight to his pride. "You're quite the party animal, aren't ya?"

There is so very little that Byakuya remembers, everything a haze of dances and kisses and nothing in between.

With nothing to say, Byakuya curiously observes him, uncertain to what extent the Knight knows of what happened the prior night.

Something tells him that Ichimaru Gin knows more than he's willing to share.

* * *

Breakfast is an unpleasant affair. Everyone is reeling from last night's celebrations.

They all sit in a state of disarray, clothes torn and singed by fire or split by wine. Their hair is not brushed, and sleep still marks them by yawns and the occasional rubbing their eyes in vain attempts to become awake. The ground is wet from morning dew, and nearly all the stones large enough for people to sit and share are used.

In such tawdry clothes, Byakuya is willing to relinquish his pride and sit where none may approach him – on the wet grass.

Yet the grumbles of the civilians are almost non-existent, as if the aftereffects don't rain down as heavily as they do for Prince Byakuya. They are not suffering the same way as he is, cursed with a delicately upset stomach, and he is scandalized and a little angry to discover this.

Not that he _wishes_ them ill fortune. He is not cold hearted. That is not his intention. And there are few people far and in between that such cruelty he could wish to bestow them with a life of agony. The fact of the matter is that the young prince would feel comforted if someone shared the torment as is undergoing. To know that he is not alone.

People are laughing, chatting merrily beside themselves, and Byakuya's stomach decides to evict all its contents forcefully and without warning.

"When I assured your mother that you would not be averse to new experiences, I did not think that you would progress towards it instinctually. Rather, it seemed far more likely that Kisuke and I would need to encourage you instead. After all, we are your guardians." Yoruichi laughs, carefree and with breakfast in hand; Byakuya can smell it, and see her just in the corner of his eyes. She sits on a chunk of stone, hair mussed up, comfortable as if the surrounding was her own. Her malleability at accustoming to other people's homes has always been an admirable quality. "You did very well, Bya-chan."

"That is good to hear." Byakuya replies after the experience ended, wiping his face in an attempt of bettering his presentation.

"The lesson which you may have failed to grasp this time around is moderation." Lord Urahara advises him and hands him a glass of water. "Wine is like water, drink too much and the repercussions may be too much for your body to handle if consumed too quickly. That is," Lady Yoruichi's husband smiles, an untrustworthy fellow to be sure, despite his good intentions, "if you have not been soured by the thought of trying again."

"Not at all." Byakuya denies, defensively. "The next time will be better."

The grin that simultaneously appears on both their faces, identical to the smallest detail, is not calming.

"Glad to hear it." Princess Rangiku says sunnily, waltzing towards them, her Knight always a few steps behind. "You impressed me greatly by your dancing abilities."

The sun catches in her hair, wildfire and spring breezes, and she is even more beautiful in broad daylight. It is clear that this is her kingdom, though she stands regal before him, she is relaxed as she glances back at her Knight and laughs once more, picking up her dress and letting it catch the grass as she strolls towards them.

"The honour was all mine, I assure you." Slightly stunned, he takes a moment to reply.

The castle too is different, changed by rays of morning light. He is finally awake to enjoy it. The nightlight and fires made the ruins of the castle romantic and close knit, smaller than Byakuya had presumed it to be. But there are expanses beyond what Byakuya can remember, that exist far beyond the castle walls, where people live in tents or enjoy the sky as their own ceiling, and beyond that, even more. People chat under trees and sit on the roots, children play with jacks and try to chase cats. There are no cobbled roads, but the path has been walked many times and trails can be seen where greenery refuse to grow, hardened mud existing in its place. The walls are not as high, and there is no glass to frame the windows, but the citizens of this kingdom make use of it: able to call out at will, or sit on the gaps in the wall. Some even sleep there; head lolling to the side, and snoring enough to make passer-by's giggle and shush, moving forward towards the place where food is being served.

This is a happy place, one well lived.

His kingdom does not seem nearly so amiable by comparison, where distinction is easily marked by state of dress and the company of status. Here it is difficult to determine if they are nobles or not, servants or not. They are people, and here, they are all united by a common theme: to eat, enjoy and laugh at the vast richness of living.

Still, it does no harm to maintain an appropriate appearance and to be seen as one should be seen. As a ruler, head raised high.

"Have you seen Hiyori?"

"Ah, yes," Ichimaru Gin says cheerfully, "She has a delightful temper."

Better people have played the part of court jesters more successfully than that.

"Smile, dear," Yoruichi sings softly in his ear, and Byakuya would prefer to scowl.

Nevertheless, he tries – if not to scowl, or smile – he tries not to look bored.

"She'll find us, have no fear." Matsumoto Rangiku reassures him, making herself comfortable on the ground, the epitome of grace. "It is the perfect time for a picnic of breakfast, and the talking of business."

"So soon?" Lord Urahara blinks, mouth widening. "Has our young princess made such an impression on you?"

"She has." Rangiku smiles, casting her grey blue eyes to meet his once more – and Byakuya tries to stifle the scream of horror. He had thought that more time would be needed for there to be true compatibility, and sobriety may be required for such compatibility.

Of course, he is happy that she has accepted him as her future husband, and the merging of two kingdoms. Love does not bloom immediately, and of course, there is the endless debate about love and politics, which should come first… but surely their heirs will be strikingly attractive.

"And it is not to be."

And fictitious.

"… I beg your pardon?" His voice is much shriller than he expects, and he nearly winces, though Byakuya does not fail to reproach himself in his mind.

"You don't have to hide it." If anything, Rangiku-hime looks relieved, so elated. That is mildly disconcerting – is he not a good marriage husband? "I know."

"Do tell." Lady Yoruichi purrs, genuinely curious, but cackling behind a sip of water. "What has our most precious one been hiding?"

His gender, obviously. Apparently, everyone has taken to call him 'Byakuya-hime'; logically no one is aware. The fault of which, is not his, Byakuya cannot stress it enough. It is not his fault that Princess Rangiku and the denizens of her kingdom have been misled, but it _is_ his fault that he has not rectified those mistakes. Now would be the most ideal situation to confess, and clarify the severe error.

"I'm sorry," Byakuya begins, "I am—"

"—in love." Princess Rangiku finishes. She smoothes out the creases of her dress, covering her ankles, and she's still the prettiest princess that Byakuya has ever seen, utterly captivated by the wilderness.

And yet, he doesn't have the slightest idea what she is talking about.

His mouth parts.

He has no words. None.

Lord Urahara is coughing on the water he drinks. Soon he will be close to the death, and where he goes, Lady Yoruichi is certain to follow.

"It is quite obvious. I can see it in your eyes, even now. You're in love." She says simply, as if she has diluted the purest essence of common sense and made it into complete delusion. "You thought, perhaps, you could escape it. But how can you, when she is constantly in your presence, everywhere you go?" Byakuya glances at Yoruichi and hopes that it is not his greatest nemesis that is the subject of her conversation. Ichimaru looks at Rangiku, curiously. "Last night, when you offered me your hand, jealousy reared, and sometime later, confessions were made. It was very romantic, many swooned. Most passed out after."

But _who_ is she referring to?

"Had you an unattached heart, I would have accepted. But as it is not, and I wish you the best. However, you may stay here as long as you like. You are a cherished friend in the kingdom of Brilliant."

It is the strangest rejection.

"_Oh."_

Then he remembers.

"Oh?" Yoruichi laughs, and gazes at him enquiring, golden eyes full of mirth. She is like a cat that has just supped fresh milk, eager for this gossip, perfectly smug with the current predicament.

Byakuya pales.

He had been kissed by someone with blonde hair.

_Two_ people with blonde hair.

Such little information is no help at all.

"Here she is!" Rangiku says, and stands once more to draw attention, effortlessly done with bounce and delight_._

"And there _he_ is." Ichimaru adds with glee.

She calls their names, the two of them standing together, ambling about, and leaning on each other for support. Hiyori looks less than pleased, head down but her scowl is visible wherever she goes, whereas the carriage driver Shinji is smirking a little too brightly for Byakuya's taste. Around here, everyone smiles too much. Instead of sincere, it makes them suspicious.

It's tragic to know that the frowning Hiyori is once again the only person Byakuya can truly trust and depend on these circumstances.

Except Hiyori is blonde.

And so is Shinji.

"It can't be." Byakuya whispers, hardly aware that he has spoken, completely unaware of the mischief on Lady Yoruichi's face as she studies them all, confirmed by Rangiku's joyous smile, and the realization is a sudden thunderstorm on his face, drenching all hopes and dreams into bitter ashes that are them blown in the wind. It makes _sense_, which is the most horrifying discovery of all, the heights to be taken into account, and their stupid _kisses—_

They are two blond betraying betrayers that have ruined everything.

It's not melodramatic when it's true.

"Your true loves are here." Rangiku's knight merrily chimes in, and this is a joke, he is a jester, and this is a truth that is approaching them in stomped out wedding bells that Byakuya cannot run from.

Rangiku gasps, taken by surprise.

He might faint, there are black spots dancing in his vision.

Hiyori is red-faced and ferocious.

Shinji takes on glance at him, and freezes, no doubt a surge of memories rushing to the surface.

"No, not possible." The smirk vanishes instantly, mirroring his sentiments to the marrow of his bones.

"How _splendid!_" Rangiku exclaims, ignorant of everyone's traumatic epiphanies and grim denial of the situation which is not quickly transferred into reluctant acceptance. "All three of you, _together_."

The situation cannot worsen. It cannot. Under no circumstances can it exacerbate into something more twisted and agonizing.

"Bya-chan," Lady Yoruichi breathes in his ear, the hairs on his neck prickling, just as Lord Urahara grins on the other side. Devil and devil rest on his shoulders, the definition of sin, and their muffled laughter courses through their veins, removing what little hopeful dignity he had left. His knuckles clench tightly, nails digging in, just as his greatest foe places her delicate hand on his shoulder. She sounds ecstatic. "You've reconsidered polygamy after all."

* * *

They stay in the Kingdom of Brilliant three more days.

None of them can look at each other.

Avoidance is infinitely preferable than having to share the same carriage for a few days.

And as long as Lord and Lady Urahara have the honour of drinking as many glasses of the finest wines, there is no complaint on prolonging the journey. The Princess Rangiku is more than willing to accommodate them, asking questions of when did this happen, who kissed first, and both Lady Yoruichi and Lord Kisuke have the pleasure to weave a wonder tale. But no one can determine which came first – was it Hiyori or Shinji? Nobody can agree, but plenty of money is made trying to find evidence for both. Both were seen, but the deciphering of time is murky to all. The impossible is made possible, and Rangiku accepts each segment of the story, reading too much into the quick darts that instantly become embarrassment, the fantasy evidently a reality through her rose-tinted vision.

* * *

The worst has yet to be stated.

For the first time, His Royal Highness, Prince Byakuya, is forced to use his hands and brush his own hair.


End file.
